Illusions Like
by ForetellerAnguis
Summary: AU. An adapted retelling of the film Black Swan featuring everyone's favourite Organization. M rating for upcoming chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Kingdom Hearts and Black Swan characters, scenarios and lines belong to their respective owners. I am an originality-free zone.**

* * *

Darkness, an endless black void without form, without features, without flaws.

A beam of light, filthy with dust.

He was dancing.

En pointe, as he had insisted on learning. People had laughed, or rolled their eyes, or worse, expressed concern. Nervousness making his mouth run off he recited to them the balance and foot strength benefits of the exercise, the great danseurs who had recommended it, choreographic examples...

Xemnas had understood. Of course Xemnas had understood. The concentration, the skill, the perfection in absolute awareness of the placement, the strain on every muscle...

He was not aware. He was dancing. That alone should have been enough.

Enough to make him panic, fumble to regain control, lose his place, _fail_...

There was a shadow, dark and solid. Another dancer. Another danseur. They moved together, opposed yet perfectly in sync, a visceral pas de deux.

He was not leading.

There was no music. Not to his ears, though his body responded as though there were. All he heard was distant rustling, and snatches of high, cold laughter. His own laughter, as he had never heard it before.

Swan Lake. He knew the music by the rhythms of his body, the punctuation of movement, the pulse of calm and attack. Swan Lake. Only he wasn't Benno, or Wolfgang, or Siegfried...

He was the White Swan.

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

Ienzo woke up in soft light and pale blues. A small bed, built for a child really, but it was not as though he had grown out of it. A child's room, once strong colours faded out, lined with neat units and regimented shelves. Books everywhere, lining the walls, stacked neatly on chests of drawers, straining with bookmarks on the bedside table. The occasional toy, still: a sailing ship, a model windmill, a neat line of toy soldiers. All of the sort to be placed out of reach and admired, not taken down and played with.

He sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and stretched. Rolling his ankles, stretching his toes, feeling for and beyond all the tension and resistance.

Morning routine. Stretch (basic, loosen out protesting muscles from any awkward sleeping position). Shower (hot, get clean, get the muscles warm). Dry (old towels, stiff, scratchy, finish off towelling hair on the way out). Underwear.

Mirror.

He twisted in front of the three-panel mirror, assessing. Basic outline, muscle mass, definition, body fat. Too short, but there was no way he was getting surgery on his legs. Too narrow across the shoulders, arms a little thin (upper body work was required for lifts, but too much bulk added weight and messed with the silhouette, how to balance the two...) Legs...not too terrible. Clean lines, not overly bulky. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he ran a hand over his abdomen; fat was starting to obscure the definition. Eating and exercising right to maintain muscle, eliminate fat, and keep weight down was a nightmare. The girls had it easy, just heading for one extreme.

Morning warm-up.

He pulled on shorts and a singlet, and started some stretches. Arms up, hold. Arms down. Quadriceps; one foot up and back, grab, balance, hold. Down, other foot, balance, hold...

"Ienzo, breakfast!"

Tuck in one leg, stretch out the other, fingertips to toes, hold...

"IENZO!"

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

The air smelled of citrus and eggs and strong coffee. Ienzo idly impaled his grapefruit with a fork, watching the flesh tear tear around the tines as he twisted.

"Stop playing with your food."

"Yes, Even," he murmured, lifting the fork to his mouth as his adoptive father fussed around the small kitchen. He suppressed a wince as the acid hit an ulcer.

"Honestly, boy, you need to focus," Even continued. "Back to work today, yes? You won't make any kind of impression for auditions with your head in the clouds."

"He said he would feature me more this year."

Even snorted.

"Quite right too. You've been doing this long enough. And you're easily the most dedicated dancer in the company."

Ienzo stared at his plate.

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"Nonsense. Practice makes perfect, after all."

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

The subway train was packed, as usual. Ienzo watched the patterns of light and dark flash past the window, and the ghost of his own reflection.

There was a soft rustle of fabric as someone brushed past him, and he involuntarily turned his head and glanced down the carriage.

Something caught his eye, far down the packed crowd. A long dark coat, with silver accents. Xemnas had one just like it... but no, it was not Xemnas. Too short, the wrong shape... the face was turned away, features hidden behind a fall of slate blue bangs.

Just like his own...

Ienzo jerked his gaze back to the window and swallowed nervously, aware he had been staring, and of the thudding of his heart. When he dared to look back, the figure was gone.

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

There were still some old posters up from last season. Larxene and Marluxia as Giselle and Albrecht. Larxene looking the very image of frail, lost innocence. Utterly at odds with the formidable woman herself, who had once been cornered by a stalker in an alley and had promptly reacted by punching the man in the stomach and pepper spraying him while he was winded.

Marluxia looking perfect as always.

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

"Can't he take a hint? The company's broke. No one comes to see us."

The cramped soloist's dressing room was nearly full. Ienzo got changed, studiously trying to avoiding looking at anyone. With all the mirrors though it was impossible not to catch glimpses. Dancers binding blistered toes, adjusting dance belts, pulling on leg warmers. Edym fixing his hair. At the back of the room the huge, quiet Russian, Aeleus, who had joined the company last year.

"Well, Xemnas' stuff isn't to everyone's taste, but it's _different_. What's the phrase, _avant-garde_? That's good, I guess?"

"There is no 'good' broke. Definitely not because the director's ideas are all nuts and his bitch-queen boyfriend is stupidly high-maintenance."

"Come on, it's not.."

Heads turned as the door opened and a head poked in, all spiked shocking red hair, bright green eyes and crooked grin. Pure white iPod wires running from his ears. Slightly out of breath.

"Soloists, right?"

They all gave the newcomer a blank look. Eventually Edym managed a "...yeeeeeeah?"

The man grinned wider, and stepped in. Tall and slender, lanky really, bundled up in a dark coat and yellow-brown checked scarf.

"Great!" he said, tugging the earphones out and heading for an open spot. "I missed my stop, can you believe that? Had too hoof it all the way from 79th. Anyway, I'm Lea."

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

Endless rows of synchronous movement in the rehearsal room, where it was hard to tell where reflections ended and reality began. Piano (_Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, opus twenty, act one, number one, Scène, Allegro giusto, composed between 1875 and 1876_, his mind reeled off without prompting) and the snap of the ballet mistress providing a metronome as much of the company went through practice. Ienzo, one hand on the barre, focussed on his own image, concentrating on every motion.

"And one, two, three, four, _up_, two, three, four..."

A lexicon of positions and steps flickered though his mind, labelling every move, precisely defining _correct_ from _deviation_.

"Very good, Ienzo. But not so tense. Relax. Flow."

He nearly started at mistress Aqua's attention. Flow... it was added to the catalogue of things to to focus on.

"And one, two, three..." The ballet mistress paused, then clapped for silence with a small smile. The dancers looked first at her, and then followed her gaze, as the music ceased.

Xemnas was standing in the doorway.

There was a general rustle of activity as dancers bustled to re-present themselves, several stripping out of loose outer warm-up clothes. Ienzo joined them, tugging off his sweatshirts and warm-up pants. The newcomer, Lea, just rolled his eyes.

"Positions!"

The music started up again. But this time Ienzo's attention was divided. Instead of his own motions he used the mirrors to monitor Xemnas' lazy descent into the room.

His eyes flicked away as the director leaned down to greet mistress Aqua with a soft peck on the cheek. _Concentrate._

"Swan Lake," Xemnas declared, deep, measured voice penetrating the room. He started to pace the lines of dancers.

"We all know the story. But there is an older one. The undine, a water spirit, possessed of long life and surpassing beauty, but lacking an immortal soul."

Out of the corner of his eye Ienzo saw Xemnas tap Edym on the shoulder.

"One can be gained, but only from the true love of a human."

Another male soloist, another tap. Another, passed over.

"And yet, there is a price. The spirit's life will be shortened and its beauty fade with time, just as a mortal's does. And if the human lover is ever once unfaithful, both are doomed by fate."

Ienzo's breath caught as he felt Xemnas' hand ever so briefly on his shoulder. The man moved on without even meeting his eye.

"The human, to die. The spirit, to fade to nothing."

He stopped, both voice and motion. Letting the words sink in. Then he clapped sharply, and the music stopped again.

"Greetings, company," he intoned. The dancers turned to face him, chorusing an awkward "good morning" in response.

"And so, our production," Xemnas continued. "Taking influence from both tales. Male leads." He raised a hand as if to dismiss objections. None were forthcoming, though a murmur passed through ranks of female soloists. "But not like Bourne. No hiding behind switched focus and symbolism. A traditional story. Two lovers. Two worlds. Light and darkness." He gestured widely, tone rising in forceful conviction. "Passion. Envy. Rage. Sorrow..."

Xemnas trailed off, arms raised, golden eyes focused on some distant glory.

After a moment he snapped back to reality.

"Soloists I tapped, meet me in the principle studio at five."


	2. Chapter 2

Ienzo sat in the dingy backstage corridor, one leg stretched out, one tucked in back against the grey cinder block wall, staring at nothing. It was hard to prepare for an audition when you had no idea what you were auditioning _for_.

"Aw man, did I miss something?"

He wasn't the only one in the dark, it seemed. Edym had been wandering up and down for the past five minutes like a lost puppy, bothering the occasional knots of dancers chatting between practices.

"Come oooon, someone has to know?"

He looked pleadingly in Ienzo's direction. Ienzo coughed nervously.

"Ah, well, the soloist roles in a traditional production there would be Siegfried, von Rothbart, Wolfgang, and Benno... though that role has tended to be backgrounded in more recent productions... and von Rothbart and Wolfgang has sometimes been cast as a dual role in parallel to Odette and Odile. But since Xemnas plans on bringing in elements from Undine, then... well, there are multiple possibilities..."

Edym flagged as he continued to ramble about historical variations on the two tales and casting options based on the selected dancers and Xemnas's (admittedly unpredictable) past behaviour.

"He's being all _mysterious_ again... Hey! Maybe Xigbar knows..."

Ienzo just blinked at the interruption, long ago lost trying to vocalise his racing thoughts. By the time he had managed to bring them back to the here and now Edym had gone, no doubt in search of the company's head of sound. Some part of his inner monologue, one which sounded uncomfortably like Even, commented that he was probably going to miss the start of the audition going off like that.

The sound of shattering glass from somewhere in the corridors startled him out of his reverie. He glanced around, but beyond a few briefly turned heads no one else acknowledged the noise.

Ienzo got up and followed the sound. Muffled thumps lead him around the corner to the principal dressing rooms. More crashes, punctuating muffled growls of "fuck... _fuck_!" He edged closer. Room eleven...

Marluxia exploded out of the door in a shower of petals, stopping only to snarl at Ienzo as he passed.

"What?!"

Ienzo shrank back against the wall, looking down and mumbling an apology. When he looked back up Marluxia had stalked off and the door to the principal dressing room had swung to a rest, just open. Inviting.

He glanced up and down the now empty corridor, and slipped inside.

The room was full of Marluxia. Costumes, old posters, make-up. When Ienzo remembered to breathe the smell caught on the roof of his mouth; flowers over the usual dressing room musk. Not the cloying sweetness of artificial floral scent, but real flowers, complex and crisp with hidden sharpness and woody undertones.

Puddles of water and shards of a vase spilled over the dressing table and onto the floor. The fresh remains of a shredded bouquet. The mirror cracked, nothing missing, just a few clean, strong lines dissecting his reflection.

Ienzo let the very tips of his fingers brush reverently over the black leather of Marluxia's coat, abandoned over back of the chair. He sat down, looking his distorted self in the eye, trying to imagine...

His eyes drifted down to the scattered possessions on the vanity. The glint of a metal nail file caught his eye. He picked it up, balancing the length between his fingers, and ran a finger first along the edge, then the plane. Long and elegant, smooth and coarse, wicked sharp at the tip. He slid droplets of light up and down the length of it a few times, then froze.

He got up quickly, slipping the file into his pocket as he rose. Ienzo opened the door, barely a crack, and slid out of the room.

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

Piano music filled the wide, mirrored space of the rehearsal room. Xemnas had, eventually, explained the purpose of their being here, ignoring the murmur of scepticism and minor complaint. Auditions for the role of the White Swan.

He had known. Maybe he had been trying to avoid it, press away dreams and nightmares with the harsh light of rationality. No, he could not have known. Guessed, suspected, inferred, but not _known_. That kind of certainty was not...

And now he was dancing, trying both to pack in all he knew of the role, and follow Xemnas's direction: fluid, melancholy, prideful, wary, ethereal yet powerful...

The music stopped abruptly. Ienzo looked to Xemnas, searching for some sort of judgement.

Xemnas looked back, unreadable. He gestured to the pianist.

"Now, the Black Swan Coda. Show me your darker self."

Ienzo swallowed hard, breathed, and launched with the music. Perhaps the most famous sequence in ballet, yet of course he had never considered, he had never truly studied...

"Not so contained. You must _seduce_. The heart of the prince! The hearts of the audience! The heart of the world itself!"

Xemnas's words hammered into his mind. Up, pain, spin, down, relief, up, pain, spin, down, relief, pain, spin, relief, pain, relief, pain, relief, _pain_...

The door clattered open, breaking his overstretched concentration entirely. Muscles wrenched as he landed, stumbled, and bit back a hiss.

Lea strolled in, pulling out his earphones.

"Good of you to join us," Xemnas stated, with a hint of imperious sarcasm.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Lea told the room, scratching the back of his head. His obvious insincerity grated.

"Get warmed up."

"Nah, I'm good."

Ienzo tested his leg as subtly as he could. Some pain and his ankle had been twisted a little, but he would live...

Lea glanced at him as he crossed the room, and then to Xemnas.

"So are we going full Trockadero de Monte Carlos or...?"

The artistic director sighed.

"Definitely. Not."

"Right, gotcha."

"Should I go again?" Ienzo asked, not succeeding at keeping the urgent edge from his voice. Xemnas shook his head.

"No. I've seen enough. Edym, the White Swan variation."

Ienzo bit his lip hard.

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

Ienzo's cellphone shook and sang as he entered the underpass, the screen shedding a sickly glow through his pale coat. He fished it out of his pocket and checked the screen.

It said: _EVEN_.

His thumb hesitated before he pressed to cancel the call. It might be late, but he was on his way home anyway. Not far now.

Ienzo looked up as he put away the cellphone. There was a figure at the other end of the underpass, outlined in the dim light from the exit. Short. His height. Slight build. His build. Pale hair. Styled just like his own.

Long dark coat. Pressing a cellphone into his pocket...

Ienzo removed his hand from his pocket. The figure did the same.

He shivered but started down the underpass, pulling his coat tight around him. Eyes fixed on the grubby floor, spray-painted colors flashing past his peripheral vision.

His footsteps echoed oddly, as though there were others with him, behind and beside and approaching.

Someone brushed past him. Leather and rustling paper and high cold laughter...

His head snapped up and around, eyes wide. The other continued down the path.

Ienzo's cellphone rang again.


	3. Chapter 3

Ienzo slipped through the apartment door, and nearly bumped into Even.

"Honestly boy, I called you four times. _Four_. I _refuse_ to believe you didn't notice _all_ of them. I did not raise you lacking the _common courtesy_ to respond to a _simple_ call when you _know_ you are late and that I have no idea _where_..."

Tuning out Even's endless griping and making the occasional apologetic noise had become second nature a long time ago. He should have picked up the call, though. Maybe not the first, but the second, or the third...

"So how did it go?"

Whatever apology he had been about to murmur caught in his throat, and he spluttered a weak "w...what?"

"The audition."

"How did you..?"

"You were late, so I called Saïx at the office. I can't believe he just sprung that on you, who does he think he is... Well?"

Ienzo looked away.

"It was fine."

"Just fine?"

"...I need to practice," he muttered, brushing past Even and ignoring the peevish call after him.

"You didn't bolt the _door_, boy!"

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...  
**

Elastic (measure, cut). Ribbon (the same). Lighter, flame to the ends (unpleasant whiff of gas and fire and melting fibres each time). Sew.

On the one hand it was a ritual, meditative, relaxing. Ienzo chewed on his lip as he worked.

On the other, it let him take his frustration out on something. Penknife, diagonal scores on the soles (not too many). Tug on the shanks (loosen). Heel on the toe box (just the right amount of pressure, careful).

He pulled them on and flexed his feet experimentally. Stood, scuffed his feet on the bare wood floor. Élevé, demi-pointe, en pointe. Again. Swapped the shoes to opposite feet and repeated the process. Considered, then made a small mark on the inside of each shoe. Another, a line bisecting the sole at the arch.

Heel end to the floor, press the whole shoe into an L-shape (bend at the mark, don't break).

The shoes still made a loud, ugly clunk as they hit the wood. He bashed one hard against the floor a few times.

"Ienzo, must you do that _now_?" Even's voice pierced through from his own bedroom-cum-study.

"I need them," Ienzo muttered to the practice mirror.

"What was that? Speak up!"

"I'll need them tomorrow!"

"Can you not... finish in the morning, or something? I am _trying_ to work."

Ienzo put the shoes aside carefully, letting his fingertips brush over the fresh satin. So strange that there was something you had to break before it could be perfect.

Someone laughed. From outside the apartment, no doubt coming home late and perhaps a little drunk. It wasn't unusual. Ienzo shook his head and fetched an older pair of pointe shoes. Fully broken in, almost worn out really. Too soft. Still, he needed to get as much practice as he could.

He _wanted_ this role. It was a strange realisation. It might be unorthodox, but there was no reason he shouldn't, no reason he _couldn't_. He didn't care what the others would say (and they would say things, tension and rivalry and harsh judgement poorly hidden behind dressing room banter). If he could just show Xemnas what he could do...

And if he did get the role, he would be partnering with Marluxia. That would be...

Practice. The Black Swan coda. Thirty-two _fouettés __en tournant__,_ that was the ideal. First performed by Pierina Legnani in _Cinderella_ (Imperial Mariinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, 1983). Wild spins, contrasted against the White Swan's tortured attitudes and arabesques.

He took a few deep, steadying breaths, and started to spin. The move was a complicated one, and to perform so many chained together, so fast... _fondu, relevé, spot, developpé, retiré, fondu, relevé, spot, developpé, retiré, developpé, retiré, fondu, relevé, spot, developpé, retiré, fondu, relevé, spot..._

He could do _better_ than this. Better than he had at the audition. He _knew_ that. If that _idiot_ hadn't barged in...

There was a dull fleshy crunch as he rose _en pointe_, and lightning shot up his leg. He cried out, stumbled (again, _again_), and grabbed at his foot on instinct. Angry wet heat was spreading against his toes. Probably not as bad as it felt, he told himself. With shock and sweat and painful throbbing the illusion of blood could be powerful.

"Ienzo?"

"I'm fine!" He called back hurriedly, sitting down and stripping off shoe and toe pad. He smelled rust. The toenail of his big toe had split, vertical, right down the centre, and was weakly oozing red.

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

Ienzo yanked his foot back with a hiss, gaining a sharp look from Even. He had been dragged into the bathroom as soon as he was checked on, and was now sat dejectedly on the toilet seat as his father dabbed his toe with antiseptic.

"I can do this myself," he murmured as Even finished swabbing. Even just snorted and turned away.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he muttered into the cupboard as he scrabbled around for the gauze. "Getting too worked up..."

"You're the one who always tells me that if I'm going to do something, I should do it _right_," Ienzo groused.

"And this is 'doing it right', is it? Hold still."

The statement was punctuated with a metallic snip. Even dressed the wound in a brusque, businesslike fashion.

"And now, you're going to bed. It's late and you need to rest that foot. And no staying up all night reading! I'll be checking."

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

The door to Xemnas' office was jet black, monolithic. Better quality than most of the backstage fittings. Ienzo waited opposite, staring at his own dim reflection in the polished surface and running over and over what he might say to the director when he arrived. He couldn't seem too desperate, but if he didn't make his case...

He turned a little too eagerly as he heard heavy, measured footsteps approaching.

"Do you have a minute?"

Xemnas didn't reply, but he paused at the door, and waved Ienzo in.

The office was styled in gloss black, crisp white, sharp lines. Lacking all colour, or even the softening intermediate of grey. Stray papers scattered on the surfaces. There was something faintly intimidating about the place, and Ienzo's precarious piling of courage started to wobble.

"If now isn't a good time I could..."

"Now is perfect," Xemnas interrupted, taking a seat in the high-backed white leather office chair. He regarded Ienzo coolly.

"I just wanted to tell you that I practised the coda last night, and I finished it."

The words came out in a rush, and he tried to convince himself that it wasn't _much_ of a lie. He could do it. He knew he could. Just because he had been interrupted... he would have started again, got it _right_, injury or no...

Xemnas' expression didn't even flicker.

"Your inadequacy is not in your technique."

The pronouncement left Ienzo speechless. If not technique, then what? He was dedicated, reliable, he had never once turned up late, so it couldn't be that. Had one of the ballerinas complained about his partnering? Was it how he looked? It wasn't as if he could help that...

"I have already chosen Edym." Xemnas continued, standing again and crossing the short space to the exit. "So..." He opened the door and held it there expectantly. Ienzo ducked behind his hair.

"I'm sorry, I'll..."

The door was closed firmly in his face as he tried leave.

"Is that all?"

Ienzo looked up at Xemnas in bemusement. Xemnas studied him, then slowly shook his head.

"I see. You are not going to fight for it."

That look. Superior. Disappointed, but unsurprised. Pitying.

"You must have believed it was possible to change my mind. Otherwise, why are you here?"

"I... came to ask for the part..."

Pathetic. He sounded pathetic. He needed to say something, _do_ something, work out what Xemnas wanted...

"Really. In truth, I do not see it. The White Swan, yes. But the Black Swan? That is illusion, enchantment, deception. Pulled by the darkness, molding it and molded by it, reveling in every moment. But you... you obsess over every move, every note, every fact of every historic performance... but you give nothing of yourself. All that discipline... for what?"

Ienzo looked down, away.

"I just want to be perfect," he muttered. Xemnas chuckled, low and cheerless.

"Perfection is not only about control. It is also about letting go. _Transcendence_."

Ienzo swallowed hard, eyes still on the floor. If that what the director demanded...

"I think I c..."

Xemnas grabbed him firmly by the chin and forced his head back, face up. Ienzo barely had time to register the flash of gold before Xemnas swept down and his attention was on something else entirely.

It was the polar opposite of a fairytale. Forceful, fierce, _filthy_. The discomfort and bitter taste made him want to pull back, but the hand on his chin slid around to roughly press against the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair. He could feel the blood pumping through his lips, an ugly sort of throbbing that had more in common with injury than passion.

He was kissing back, awkwardly trying to keep up with the desperate tangle of lips and teeth.

Something wet and rough and slimy pressed insistently against his mouth, and he started. Xemnas jerked away almost simultaneously, releasing his bruising grip on the back of Ienzo's head as he did so. He raised his fingers to his lip, briefly looking almost... confused.

"You bit me."

Xemnas' face and tone had gone utterly blank. For a moment so did Ienzo's mind. Had he... had he really just...?

"I'm sorry!"

He backed away, one step, then another, then turned and bolted out of the room.

He told himself that he imagined the deep, amused hum behind him.

**... ...\\-\\\|¨... ...**

Nothing was making sense. Nothing seemed quite real. His breathing was too loud and the chatter of the other dancers in the hallway was muffled and distant. His skin tingled. He had taken a drink of water from one of the fountains, trying to wash away what had just happened, but the taste, the _feeling_ remained.

He'd bitten Xemnas. They'd kissed and he'd _bitten_ him. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. If it was a nightmare he could wake up and this would never have happened and he could carry on as normal. If it wasn't he had no idea what he'd do. Apologise? Try to forget this had ever happened? Plead with the director not to fire him?

He was going to get fired. Or simply get dumped with all the worst roles from now on until he quit on his own. There was no way Xemnas would work with him after this. He'd ruined his chance at the role, he'd ruined his future with the company, he'd ruined his entire career, he'd ruined _everything_.

Xemnas had _kissed_ him. Did that mean he was... interested? But... Xemnas had Marluxia. Why would he even look at some like him?

Someone spoke to him as they passed by.

"Hey, it's up!"

Ienzo blinked, and reality came back in a rush of sound and sensation. There was... not a commotion exactly, but the noise around him pointed to a converging motion of people. Casting was up already?

There was no point in looking. That would only make it real. Maybe he could pretend things were all right for a little while longer...

"Aaaaah, I thought I was a shoe-in!"

That was unmistakably Edym. Why was _he_ complaining..?

"Never mind, Ed." _Lea_. "Hey, at least this one doesn't make you look like a girl. And weren't you moaning about all the pointe work _already_?"

This... didn't make sense. Xemnas had cast Edym in the White Swan role. He had said so. He wasn't the sort to lie, or joke about these things.

A good number of dancers, male and female, were jostling around the board trying to catch a look at the cast sheet. Lea had positioned himself by the wall to the side, one arm resting along the top of the noticeboard. He grinned at Ienzo as he approached.

"Hey, lead role! Congratulations."

"Yeah, well done, and stuff," Edym added listlessly, not looking him in the eye.

Reality was falling away again. He moved forward, too dazed to pay much notice to how several members of the crowd moved aside to let him through.

There it was. His name, at the top of the list, under the heading _White Swan/Black Swan_.

That wasn't the only thing that couldn't be right. Marluxia's name was nowhere to be found. He looked again. And again. The same result. His name under the White Swan role. Lea's under _Von Rothbart_. Edym's under _Benno_. Under _Prince Siegfried_ was printed:

AELEUS MOLCHANOV


End file.
